Memory Serves
by Cherie-24-Addict
Summary: When tensions boil over after Cary's biggest case of the year, he and a "friend" make the best and worst mistake of their careers and learn that everything they believe in could be completely wrong.  Based on the song by Interpol.  Rated T/M for a reason.
1. Sabotage, Drinks, and Mistakes

_Author's Note: This is my first songfic for The Good Wife, and it's also my longest. Bear with me as I try to get the characters to stay in character, and remember, any review is a good review (as long as you don't flame me). Enjoy, and look for updates in the future!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own The Good Wife. Or Kalinda Sharma's clothes. Or, unfortunately, Matt Czuchry. *fans self*_

**Memory Serves**

It's not a remarkable day by any means. Former State's Attorney Glenn Childs's protégé is first chair on a capital murder case (again). To the cocky (or appropriately confident, as Cary likes to call himself) Assistant State's Attorney, it looks like the case, though it's a high-profile one, isn't going to be groundbreaking. All he has to do is push the evidence and crack down on the wife of the victim, and he'll have his conviction. He's not worried about the cross-examination; there's a reason he is known in certain Harvard Law circles as Cary "The Intimidator" Agos. But he's going up against, surprise, surprise, Lockhart Gardner on this case. He still doesn't understand why Childs assigned him to _all_ criminal cases handled by his former employer, but it is what it is. It's a new dawn and a new day for him. Or it would be, if not for the one weapon they use against him. The scary part is they need to do nothing but unleash its power on a laptop and in a file covertly handed to Will Gardner in a courthouse, hips swishing and stiletto heels clacking away softly as she smirks with satisfaction.

His day starts out unremarkably and ends predictably. He's about to win and put away a vicious killer when all of a sudden, Will comes up with "new" (meaning likely untrue and definitely illegal) evidence to give to the jury. Cary's head snaps back as he hears the familiar sound of stiletto boots traveling further away. As usual, everyone acts as if Lockhart Gardner's sexiest in-house investigator doesn't exist. (He mentally slaps himself for just _thinking_ that.) As Will presents his little story, Cary gives the lead to his partner for a minute and looks back. He allows his eyes to travel to her toned legs, to her ass, and then looks away so that the ache in his pants shuts up before it gets any real blood pumping. Then, he vaguely remembers that he has a job and gets into a back-and-forth argument with Will about the merits of this so-called evidence. When the judge calls a fifteen-minute recess an hour later, he locks eyes with Kalinda, who's perched on the edge of her seat in the second row, her legs crossed and her face etched with that god-awful smirk, her eyes dancing as if she had just put a hand over her mouth and said, "Oops. Guess I just fucked with your case of the year. Have fun with that one."

When the trial shuts down for the day, Cary catches her on the way out. "What the hell was that?" he hisses as he jogs to keep up with her cheetah-like gait.

"Don't know what you're talking about," she says calmly.

"You _fucked_ with _my case_."

"And that's unusual because…"

"It's not. And that's the point." He catches her chin and turns her face toward him so that she can't look away. "Stop injecting fake evidence into my cases. I don't exactly like letting murderers walk away on a defense completely composed of lies."

"They're not _all_ lies," she quips, turning away and continuing her stride down the sidewalk.

Cary smirks in spite of his deep desire not to. Her sly, dry sense of humor is the missing component to his day at the State's Attorney's. Standing in the same place she left him, he says, "You're making a career off of ruining mine."

She stops in her tracks and sends him a look. _Poor baby. Want me to kiss it and make it better?_ "I'm making a career," she says slowly, "off of _investigating_. If it means that an innocent person goes free, okay. If it means that I mess with the State's Attorney's office…even better."

"And I just happen to be in the way of your vendetta against Peter."

Her eyes harden. "Who says it has to do with Peter?"

"Maybe everything you've ever said to me about him."

She shakes her head and her mouth twitches, stretching an uncomfortable half-grin across her face. "If this bothers you so much, Cary, do something about it."

It's a challenge extended on a silver platter, and he'll be damned if he doesn't take a challenge that Kalinda Sharma puts in his way. Still, what comes out of his mouth is enough to shock both of them, and it's something that will have lasting repercussions.

"All right, fine. Let me buy you a drink."

She stares at him for a second, but she doesn't disagree, pull away, or claim that she has more work she has to complete for the trial. Plus, it's not like she has much of a social life left anyway after losing Alicia's respect and friendship (because no matter how much you try to explain it away, it's never good to sleep with your friend's husband). A minute later, she calls a taxi cab and gives the driver directions to their bar.

_**It would be so nice to take you  
>I only ever try to make you smile<br>No matter what, we're gonna keep you occupied  
>But only at your place<br>Only at your place**_

It's taken Cary twenty-seven years to get to this point, but he's finally realized work has taken over his life. By the time the cab drops him and Kalinda off at O'Malley's, he's worked so late that the bar has closed. He repeats this bizarre bit of information to himself: _the bar is closed._ He doesn't have time to mull over this pain-in-the-ass turn of events, though; he invited Kalinda out for drinks, and since this is an opportunity he will probably never get again, he needs to tweak it just enough so that he can play his cards right.

"I guess those drinks aren't going to work out," she says.

"We could go to your place."

"You already know where I live, Cary. That's enough. You're not coming up and getting familiar."

He resists the urge to make a comeback and pauses for a second. "Come to my place."

She narrows her eyes.

"I promise," he continues sotto voce, "all I want is to give you what you wanted. No more, no less."

She hums for a second and makes a snap decision. "Fine. We'll do _what I wanted_ at your apartment. Guess you'd better catch that taxi."

_Damn tease_, he thinks to himself as he lets Kalinda slink into "their" cab and gives the cabbie directions to his apartment.

An hour later, they sit in his apartment, listening to an old Sinatra record. They're both more hammered than either of them would prefer. The shot glass wobbles in Cary's hand. He knows Kalinda has the advantage; she can probably drink a full-grown man under the table and still safely avoid a bitch of a hangover.

"So you wanted to get me drunk all night," Kalinda says out of nowhere.

"No," Cary snorts, chuckling to himself. "I… just wanted to offer you a fun time."

Kalinda smiles and lets out a long giggle that is more suitable on a six-year-old girl. It's high-pitched, nasally, and odd enough that everyone in their circle would be noticeably creeped out. He's more creeped out that the stone-faced woman he's known his entire professional life is even capable of anything beyond a smirk. Still, it's the cutest thing that's ever escaped her lips thus far. She must be drunker than he'd expected. Small as she is, she's no lightweight.

"What drink are you on?" he asks with a wide grin as the song changes.

"Eighth, I think," she says. "What about you?"

He holds up five fingers, snickering. "Fourth."

She snorts and presses his thumb into his palm. "_That's_ four, Cary," she chuckles. "I think I'd better get going."

He suddenly feels a needier urge than he's felt for any woman in years. "Don't," he pleads.

"You're drunk, Cary," she says gently. "You do things you'll regret later when you're drunk."

"Speaking from experience?"  
>She bites her lip, her eyes almost begging him to stop. "I'm going <em>now<em>," she reinforces. She stands up and wobbles a little on her heels as she attempts to make an escape from his apartment. She hears him lumbering after her and turns around. His eyes are animal-like and hungry (for what?), but they have a tinge of sorrow. The empty shot glass turns in his hand as it clenches.

"Don't leave," he begs. "Please?"

"Why not?" she asks him, her face a smidge apprehensive as he steps forward and wraps a hand gently around the back of her neck, massaging it lightly. The last time he did this, he'd kissed her outside her apartment and run away with a stupid little comeback about normality. This time, he's not letting her get away that easily.

"Because you… are the only friend I have in this whole damn town. And I don't let go of people I care about."

Against his better judgment, he leans down and brushes a soft kiss against her lips. Maybe the vodka really has loosened her up, because as he pulls away, thinking he's _really_ fucked things up this time, she goes in for the kill. Her lips crash against his, slowly at first, then picking up speed and urgency as she comes back more forcefully, again and again. He backs her up and pins her between him and the closed door as he bites her bottom lip and she opens her mouth to him. Her arms wrap around his neck, and as they battle for dominance in the kiss, she runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. He nips at the soft skin at the base of her throat, knowing there'll be a mark in the morning, knowing that he's finally branded her somehow. A shudder runs through her body, and suddenly, as his hands find her whittled waist, neither one can stand how many layers of clothes separate him from her. Maybe it's the tequila pounding in his veins, but all Cary knows is that he won't stop until they both collapse. As he locks eyes with her, he rips her leather jacket off her body, leaving her in a skin-hugging black dress. Kalinda unbuttons his dress shirt as quickly as she can without ripping the damn thing. Once they're sort of satisfied, Cary lifts her legs around his waist, pushes the dress above her hips, and does his best to back up into his bedroom without getting them both killed. He's so dizzy from both the alcohol and the fact that Kalinda is actually in his arms that he almost trips over the rug in the hall. She chuckles as he steadies himself. He touches her cheek reverently, almost worshipping the feel of her skin on fire. They somehow manage to make it to his bedroom, and as they make one of the best- and one of the worst- decisions of the past few years, Cary knows he can't be drunk, because if he was, sleeping with her wouldn't bring him the incredibly high amounts of both ecstasy and emotional pain.

They do it a second time and even manage to go back for thirds, and by that time, she's just as wiped out as he is. When he wakes up a mere two hours later, his head pounding, her side of the bed (he can't believe he already thinks of it as _her_ side) is empty. He bolts upright, puts his hand down on it, and shakes his head, chuckling emotionlessly.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." He can't believe he was stupid enough to let her into his home, and then his bed, and then his heart, though not in that order.

The side of the bed she vacated is still warm to the touch.

_**It would be no price to pay  
>I only ever lie to make you smile<br>All kinds of dust are gonna keep me satisfied  
>But only at your place<br>Only at your place**_

Kalinda's always held a belief: if something terrifies you or threatens you, kill it. The theory has been time-tested over the years, and it always succeeds. Still, the theory never accounts for when you scare the living shit out of yourself. Does it make her suicidal, the fact that her actions are bothering her so much?

She stands at the full-length mirror in her apartment and shudders. No matter how she acts in court today, nothing will change the fact that last night, she was in Cary's bed, doing the type of thing that she swore to herself she would never do. Even worse, she knows that she can't blame her slight tipsiness for the stumble. She would only ever admit it to herself (and even that was a little iffy), but she might have actually enjoyed herself last night. Cary wasn't a horndog like Lana or violent and aggressive like Blake had been in their one brief encounter. Cary wasn't overconfident and verbal, like Peter had been, like she'd thought he might be. (Well, it's not like she'd ever thought about what he would be like in bed. Right. Pssh.) He was as passionate as he was in the courtroom, but he was almost… sweet. And sweet was not something she ever thought she could attribute to Cary Agos, or that she would ever be able to tolerate. She's still not sure she wants to. Because as much as last night was an eye-opener to how great things with Cary could be, it also reminds her of how she will crack his fragile little heart in two.

Kalinda is brutally honest with herself: she doesn't fall in love. Ever. Kalinda Sharma has never once met a man (or woman) who satisfied her few needs. They all wanted sex, every single one of them, and they thought that a good fuck meant that you were intimate with someone. From her old life as Leela Sen, she knows that sex never means anything in a relationship, especially when all that the person wants is to control you and make you theirs. It is a sad fact of life that the only way she could escape from an abusive relationship was to set her own house on fire and fake her death so that her husband couldn't find her.

The fact that she had sex with Cary doesn't intimidate her (does sex ever, really?), although if anyone found out, it could cause a few problems in the circles the friends run in. What makes her tremble, just a little bit, is that Cary acted as if it was all a… natural progression in their relationship. As if he could ever bring her anything close to the normalcy he knew she secretly craved. He is seeping into that corner of her brain reserved for intimacy, and if she ever wants to retain her freedom and spare the kid the heartache she knows will come from being anywhere near her, she needs to cork the flow, and sooner rather than later.

Thus, Kalinda turns her attention to her petite closet in order to solve two problems: the first, how to cover the hickeys on her throat, and second, how to convince Cary that she's not interested in his world of "normal". She reaches for one of her many leather jackets and chooses a black one that comes up high on the back and sides of her neck. Since it _is_ January, she slips on a purple turtleneck that emphasizes her figure but hides any evidence of last night's encounter. She doesn't have much choice when it comes to the pencil skirt, but she chooses fishnets and a pair of over-the-knee leather boots (her beloved "hooker heels"). She quickly fixes her bun and reapplies the makeup that rubbed off last night, hoping to cover the half-moons under her eyes. She looks at the mirror, taps her foot, and nods her head once, satisfied with herself.

She walks out the door to her apartment building and short. She finds him against the side of the building, as if he's been waiting for a while.

"Hey, stranger," he says dryly.

"Cary," she says calmly, refusing to take the bait. "What a surprise."

"Cut the crap, Kalinda," he snaps, his hangover evident as he rubs his temple, sulking in a way that only he can. "What the hell happened?"

"I woke up… and I left."

"You don't see a problem with that?"

"I…"

"Do you really think you can get away with what you did?"

"I don't know what you're talking about..."

"It's my turn, Kalinda," he says, turning into Lawyer Cary. "You screwed me over. It's not going to happen again. The way I see it, we have several options. The first is that we walk away and never talk to each other again. No favors, no drinks, no nothing. That's disappointing and impractical on a number of levels. The second is to make this a regular thing. And no, it's not what you think," he says, seeing her start to protest. He chuckles emotionlessly. "I don't _want_ anything from you, Kalinda. Let's be realistic here: neither of us is looking for a relationship or any of the fallout that would come from it. So let's keep it simple: we're friends. Occasionally, we have a night. A moment. Then we move on."

He can't be serious, she thinks to herself. He can't seriously be proposing that they become fuck buddies. And to think she was convinced _he'd_ be the one clinging on for dear life. He's the one with the open heart, he's the one who wanted something to happen, he's the one who invited her into his home and begged her not to ever walk away from him. He's lying. He must be, must be doing this because he thinks it's what she wants. She nods her head yes, because at least it gives her back her mental clarity. He is no longer wrestling for intimacy, and to her, whether or not she wants him to fight for her is irrelevant. He's set her free from all the anguish last night caused. And that's what she's wanted all along. Isn't it?

_A/N: Let me know what you think. Reviews are like crack to a writer, and I'm not ashamed to admit I'm a review addict. So... the button is right there. :D_


	2. Smirks, Sobriety, and Surprises

_A/N: Here is the 2nd installment of Memory Serves. In case I've forgotten to mention it, this song does not belong to me. It was written and performed by Interpol. And I still don't own Matt Czuchry, but I'd love him as a birthday present. (wink wink)_

_Anyway, enjoy the chapter, and hand over the writers' crack when you're done. Any constructive criticism is welcomed dearly. :D_

_**Tonight a special memory serves me  
>And I'll wait to find the wrong way<br>Tonight a special memory serves me  
>And I'll wait to find<strong>_

Every winter blurs together for Kalinda, and this winter is no different. Each day is mundane and unchanging: she goes to work, where she avoids Alicia, does Will's bidding, and finds an excuse to push Cary's buttons if she's lucky enough to run into him. She does her job the best way she can and tries to ignore the voice in her head that reminds her every once in a while that the job has become more of a "have to" than a "want to". It's good work, and it pays the bills, and she's damn good at it, but every now and then when she's suffering from a tropical disease and is delirious beyond belief, she wonders why she didn't try to make her life more important than it is. Her entire life consists of her work, of watching her back, and of fucking Cary whenever the mood strikes her.

It's been a few weeks since the Moment of Weakness, as Kalinda's named it, and she and Cary have set up a cute little routine. During the day, they argue, they push each other's buttons, he questions her integrity, and she questions his manhood. When the Chicago skyline darkens, they go either to their bar or to his place for drinks, and then the rest of the night is devoted to exploring every contour of each other's bodies. Then, every morning, Kalinda's up at the crack of dawn to get out of the apartment before Cary realizes she's gone. It occurs to her that he's never once asked about going to her place, or why she leaves every morning. It's an unspoken understanding they've managed to come to, a realization that waking up with him in the morning would make it seem worth more than it is to both of them.

But seriously, it's really not that big of a deal. Other than the additional tag of "with benefits" onto their previous status, there's been no indication that something (although it's nothing, really) is going on between Cary and Kalinda. Kalinda's always had a damn good poker face, but even Cary, who has the ability of a newborn to restrain his emotions, has managed to keep their nighttime activities from anyone who would threaten to use the information against them. Which, considering their likeability among the people in their field, means everyone. Above all, it's important to Kalinda that this little diversion doesn't see the light of day. That way, when the shit hits the fan, it'll only be between the two of them. No one will know about it, and she will be able to continue living her life independent and alone. Just the way she likes it. She ignores the nagging feeling she gets in her gut when she thinks about the possibility of not seeing Cary again, as a friend or as slightly higher than one. She'd say it was anxiety, but she's Kalinda, for Christ's sake, and Kalinda Sharma doesn't get nervous around attractive people.

Ignoring the panic in her gut that feels so unnatural, she twists the doorknob to find Cary's apartment unlocked and music wafting from the old record player. As Sting's voice softly crawls through the room, Kalinda shuts the door behind her and moves through the apartment slowly. Even with Cary's favorite record playing, it's too quiet. As she moves to the kitchen, she nearly drops her bag.

"Surprised?" Cary smirks as he sits at the two-person table, an arm outstretched towards a red velvet cupcake with a single candle.

She shifts uncomfortably. "What's so special about today?"

He laughs. "You're gonna tell me you don't know when your birthday is?"

Well, technically it's Kalinda's birthday and therefore not her real one, but yes. "I don't really celebrate my birthday," she says slowly. An understatement; she _really_ doesn't like drawing attention to herself.

"Well, I wouldn't let this cupcake go to waste. It's from Crumbs, and I may never spend that kind of money on you again."

"I forbade spending money on me in the first place."

"Except for drinks."

"Yes."

"Well, tonight's the exception."

She shoots him a look. He's taken it upon himself to find out when her birthday is, pick up cake for her, and generally make her feel special. This is _not_ part of the plan, which was to have a nice fuck and leave, as she's done nearly every day this winter. What the hell does he think he's doing?

"Relax, sweetheart," he says dryly, "I'm not about to put a ring on your finger. If it makes you feel better, put this on the running tab of things we owe each other."

Kalinda looks back and forth from the cupcake to Cary's face, narrowing her eyes. Then, she sighs and drops into the seat, blowing out the one pathetic little candle sitting on top of it.

"So," Cary says as she scarfs down the size-bringer-upper, "how old are you today?"

"Twenty-six," she says, not missing a beat.

"For what," he chuckles, "the seventh or eighth time?"

She rolls her eyes. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to ask a lady her age?"

"You're a lady?"

"More than you've ever known what to do with," she says, swallowing the last of the cupcake.

"You've always been that way," he mutters under his breath.

"What did you say?"

He blinks for a second or two. "Nothing important."

"Hmm," she sighs, standing up. "I say we skip the drinks tonight."

"Good, I was thinking the same thing."

"You just want me in your bed earlier."

"What can I say?" he says as he steps toward her, leans down, and breathes on her neck. "You're more fun than the State's Attorney's office."

Kalinda starts to work on undoing the buttons on his shirt, teasing the skin of his collarbone with her teeth. Once his shirt is off, he kisses her, pulling off her leather jacket, and then her skirt in one fell swoop. Soon the shirt is gone, too, which is better for both of them as their skin starts to feel like it's on fire. As they move backward towards his bedroom, he shuts the door and finally unclasps the bra as she kisses him open-mouthed and says, "Funny, Cary, you're not so bad yourself."

When she wakes up, it's too early for any normal person to function. She starts to turn over, only to feel a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist. Kalinda lifts her face and finds herself nestled at the base of Cary's neck. If not for the fact that she needs to leave before he wakes up so that he doesn't get the wrong idea about their relationship (_relationship?_), she might consider staying here for a few minutes. Maybe even an hour or two. It feels nice. It's that feeling of sweetness that Cary puts off without even realizing it. It feels almost normal, and she likes normal.

But she likes her freedom and her privacy more, at least for the time being. If Cary ever finds out she enjoys his company as more than just a warm body, she will lose what little mystery she still has left. It has to be this way. There is no second option.

She slowly, carefully slides herself out of his arms and tiptoes out of the room, picking up scattered pieces of clothing as she goes. As she starts to click-clack out of the apartment, she hears someone stirring.

"Kalinda? Is that you?"

Shit. She scurries out the door and shuts it quickly, running to wait for a down elevator. She steps into the elevator and breathes a sigh of relief as the door closes…until she realizes that the blonde man whose apartment she was in is staring at her quizzically, fully clothed.

"What was _that_?" he asks, scrunching up his nose in confusion.

"I was leaving," she says as calmly as she can. "What is _this_?"

Suddenly, he leans down and kisses her hungrily. She leans in and returns it, but just when the kiss starts to heat up, he pulls away suddenly, their lips losing contact, making a _pop_. "I don't fucking know, Kalinda. I don't..."

Suddenly, the elevator door opens, and as they walk out the front door of the apartment, in awkward silence, the flash of news cameras blinds the two of them.

"Ms. Sharma, someone in Peter Florrick's camp has made allegations that you had an affair with him three years ago while he was allegedly taking bribes!" one reporter shouts. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

_A/N: Oh, boy. What do you think is gonna happen next? What do you want to happen next? Let me know what you think... _


	3. Flashes, Fights, and False Appearances

_A/N: Hi again. It's me, Cherie. I'm sorry for the lack of updates, but the past two weeks have been filled with camp and writer's block, a deadly combination. So I didn't write nearly as much as I have in previous chapters, but I think I cranked out a decent (and very important) chapter. This may not be the Kalinda and Cary we see on the show as frequently. I borrowed a lot from the kiss episode and the Grand Jury episodes in general, because that's really how they react under stress. (Note: Everything I write is unbetaed, so let me know if you see any grammar errors.)_

_Anyway, I genuinely hope you enjoy this update, and as always, any kind of feedback is appreciated. All the Favorites and Story Alerts are wonderful, but it really makes my day if you leave a review. However long, short, flattering, constructive criticism, whatever, it really does help._

_And now, I'll shut up. On to the actual chapter._

* * *

><p><em><strong>It's over<br>It's over**__  
><em>_**I feel like, the feeling is like  
>It's over<br>Why is it so hard to stay away?**_

"Ms. Sharma, did you or did you not sleep with him?"

"How are you going to respond to these allegations?"

"Who's _this_ guy?"

"What the hell is going on here?"

"Do you _always_ sleep around to get ahead?"

It's all Kalinda can do to keep pushing through the crowd. The flashes of the cameras are blinding, the questions are thorns in her side, and the attention she's getting is just _too much_. She needs to be low-profile more than almost anything. She wilts in the spotlight, which only makes her look weaker than she already is. It's a damn good thing she has Cary to back her up.

"Okay, people," he says calmly, "let's ease up a little, shall we?" His voice is low and intense as he continues to cajole and then shove reporters out of his way. His eyes harden toward one photographer in particular, a tall, skinny woman with thin lips and snake eyes. She snaps one more shot and skulks away into the sunlight. Kalinda's eyes, down at the ground, suddenly snap up, alert, and she starts handing out most of the elbowing and fighting herself. She's acted like too much of a damsel in distress lately; she doesn't need to give Cary the idea that he's her knight in shining armor. Still, she doesn't feel compelled to push away the hand resting protectively against her back. She'll give him that to hold on to, if nothing else.

Several blocks later, she still can't figure out how the hell they managed to lose the photographers.

For the first time in ten minutes, she looks up at him, her eyes feeling unnaturally watery. For the first time in two and a half years, his eyes are unreadable.

"Well," she says, her voice cracking as if she's been lighting up. Now that she thinks about it, she could really use a smoke. "Not exactly how you'd pictured your first tabloid cover, is it?"

She has to give him credit; he really does try to edge out a chuckle or something resembling it. It doesn't even come close to reaching his eyes.

"Cary..."

"You're in deep shit, Kalinda."

The only sound she can hear is the pumping of blood in her ears. Her eyes narrow dangerously. She makes her way closer to him slowly and tauntingly, stepping on his insteps with her boots to get a better look at his face.

"What did you just say to me?" She's doesn't even try to contain the hiss coiled in her throat.

His face is as resolute as ever. "You are more fucked than I could ever put in words."

Unfortunately, it's not something she can argue with.

"The headline tomorrow is going to read 'Second Florrick Mistress – Sleeping Around To Get Her Way.' They're going to find out why you did, _Leela_. You've lost your anonymity, your freedom, your dignity, maybe your job…"

"And you." The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. Her eyes widen and she looks up to see his reaction so that she can fight or flee if she needs to. "And don't _ever _ call me that," she adds, trying to regain control of the situation.

For the first time this morning, he laughs.

"Fine, I will. You're Kalinda to me anyway. But sweetheart? You've never _had_ me." His eyes crinkle as he smirks. "But you've had my word that I'll protect you from yourself. I'm going to see it through to the end."

Stupid Cary, thinking she needs to rely on anyone but herself. (What she wants might be a different thing entirely, but that's something she keeps under lock and key.) "Who says I need your protection?"

"You don't. But you wouldn't have lasted this long without my holding off Detective Wiley. Don't worry, Kalinda. Hydrogen doesn't need spaghetti to function." His eyes still unreadable, his lips ghost over her hairline, and he takes a step back to whistle for a taxi. Lucky for them, one screeches to a stop almost immediately, curbing the need for Kalinda to shoot off a comeback to the "spaghetti and hydrogen" crack. She slides in as gracefully as she can, and he follows suit, giving the driver her address.

Ten minutes later, once she's finally been able to control the slight shaking in her hands from the morning's events, she breaks the silence. "You don't have to follow me everywhere, you know," she says.

"Unless you want to do the walk of shame, you really should go back," he says pointedly. "And it's not following if I have to be at Lockhart Gardner anyway."

"You're making that up."

"I would never do such a thing." As the taxi comes to a stop in front of her apartment building, the two step out of the car, and Cary places a few bills in the cabbie's hand. Kalinda frowns and makes a mental note to repay him later.

Once they're in the lobby, they keep up the stride. The actual reason he's supposed to be at Lockhart Gardner finally pops into her head.

"The Kim Larkin case," she realizes.

He nods. "Alicia and I are interviewing the witnesses today."

Kalinda's step falters. Alicia. How is she supposed to face the younger Florrick today, when someone in the woman's ex's camp broke the news that they've each tried so desperately to hide?

Cary turns and stops in front of her, lifting up her chin gently. "You okay?" His voice holds no humor, no triumph, and no anger. It's just the voice of a man concerned for someone he cares about. And that's the worst part of this entire thing. _He cares about her._

She nods, tight-lipped. "I'm fine."

His hand finds a better home resting at the base of her neck. "Tell me the truth."

"I did."

"Not your half-assed version of the truth that you use for denial, Kalinda, the real thing. I need you to be completely honest with me."

Not on your life, kid.

"Please," he says softly.

If she were completely insane, she'd swear that Cary's uttered the word "Please," without being sarcastic. Or drunk, for that matter.

"If you do just one more thing for me, Kalinda, do this. I can't help you if you don't let me in. Now, _are you okay_?"

Silence. "I will be," she says simply, walking away. When she notices (almost immediately) that she's alone, she turns around. "You don't need to wait down here, Cary. I don't know how long I'll take."

His mouth drops open a little but seems to take the comment for what it is – an invitation. He clears his throat and follows her into the elevator.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Reviews are writer's crack. If you give me some, I'll give you virtual cake and brownies!_


End file.
